Sunday, January 18, 2009

The Sounds of Silence

I am home alone, a rare and unusual feat. Dan took the boys to my mother's apartment that she keeps in Tarrytown. My oldest son, I am sure, is having a wonderful time playing with his cousin who lives in Great Barrington, and is, in his mind, the best thing in the universe, better even than airplanes. My youngest son is being doted on and played with by my mother and sister, and he will come home and talk about them for hours. And Dan is, no doubt, sprawling on the couch with the NY Times, and a game on the telly. When I told him that he would be able to watch sports to his heart's content over there, he said, "Cutie, it's an important day!" I am guessing that the upcoming Superbowl has something to do with that statement. I don't really know, though I look forward to hearing about it upon his return. What I do know is that I am immersing myself in quietude, and it is heaven. When they left, I straightened the house, and started a load of wash. I am one of the odd birds who actually enjoys light housekeeping, note I said "light"! Part of it is that it feels like a reclaiming of my home, a mini-nesting, as it were. It is also a great time for idle, rambling, stream-0f-conscious thought that always gives me information about the novel I am working on, and on my life in general. And also, because a novel is such a long process, there is a deep satisfaction in doing something and seeing an immediate result. A bed made. An egg cooked. Dishes washed. I finished the Sunday Times that came yesterday, (our delivery person can't make it up our driveway in the snow we are having, so Dan took the paper that came today out of mailbox at the bottom of the hill with him to Momma's), worked out on the rowing machine - my new love and life saver. I can even do it when the kids are around which is great because I refuse to pay someone to watch them so I can work out. And I caught up on a little email, am writing this, and will go have a long bath, and then I will sit in my living room and look out the long wall of windows that is the back of my house, and look at the snow, and be in a home where nothing is moving, and revel in silence and stillness.


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